The Deeds of the Four
by Veralyn
Summary: Before Harry, Voldemort, and Hogwarts there were Godric, Rowena, Salazar, and Helga. This is their story.
1. The Stone Circle

**The Deeds of the Four**  
Chapter 1: The Stone Circle

Godric kept to himself when possible. He normally didn't have to deal with people much. When they saw his tall figure, rough facial features, and wild red hair like a lion's mane, they avoided eye contact and stepped out of his path. He was used to this and had come to expect it. For years he had been an outcast and had become comfortable with the role he was to play. Godric was unsure of his age, but what did it matter? No one ever asked or seemed to care. Why celebrate a birthday when it felt as if you were abandoned on earth rather than born on it?

He was in fact in his early twenties, though his face made him look years older. It was a rugged sort of handsome, but not at all what one would call "fair". His skin was like tan leather that had been left too long in the sun-taut, and yet riddled with lines and creases. There were small lines at the corners of his mouth that drooped slightly, as if he spent his free time perfecting his scowl (which wasn't far from the truth). Freckles dotted his long, straight nose and high cheekbones. Two large, bushy eyebrows like fiery caterpillars were shaped so that he always looked angry. Below them his dark green eyes-or were they blue?-shone with a light from within, possibly his only feature that could be described as warm or kind. They tended to change color as suited their fancy, but were normally a deep shade of blue or green.

Godric's most remarkable feature, and the one that drew the most attention, to his dismay, was his untamable mop of red-orange hair. It fell just above his shoulders and seemed to defy gravity, sticking out in every direction imaginable and giving the appearance that his scalp had burst into flame.

This is how Godric appeared on a chilly evening in mid-winter when he set foot in the small town of Fir-fyngrod Tor, named for the hill on which it sat. His nomadic lifestyle had left him accustomed to ever-changing scenery; with every day there was a new village, a new inn, and several new women. Today, however, was his twenty-fifth birthday, though he did not know it. He also did not know of, or even ever imagine, the strange things that would come to pass.

Godric's towering figure stood against the darkening horizon as he surveyed his surroundings. A small stone church stood about a furlong off directly in front of him. Crudely wrought stones formed a tired and old path through the village, and spaced out on either side were a couple shops, cottages, and a weary-looking inn. Plodding through the snow, he headed toward the rundown building on his right-brilliantly named "The Traveler's Inn".

There was the tinkling of a bell overhead as he swung open the door and stepped inside. A fire glowed in the hearth to the right, and a large black kettle was busy brewing what smelled like beef stew. The scent hit Godric like a ton of bricks and he suddenly realized how ravenous he was…and how very tired he was also. He had left a village earlier that day some thirty leagues to the south, stopping only to take food and drink. A small old man sitting at a plain wooden table stood up when he entered.

"Kin I be doin' anythin' fer ya?"

Godric continued examining the inn and did not look at the man when he replied, "A room".

The man muttered something under his breath as he hobbled over a to a chest of drawers against the far wall. Godric was so immersed in his observation of the inn that he did not notice the old man produce a curiously-fashioned length of wood from his tunic, mutter more things under his breath, and watch as a locked drawer slid open of its own accord. After a few moments of rifling through the drawer-accompanied by many a klink klink-the man withdrew a key and quickly pushed the drawer closed.

Godric had made his way over to the table and seated himself, his attention now on the old man. He hobbled over to Godric and tossed the heavy metal key on the table. He then turned toward the fire, and grabbing a rough wooden bowl off the floor, began to fill it with stew.

"Three gold fer th' nigh'", he said disinterestedly as he set the bowl of stew and a roll of bread before Godric.

Godric nodded and tossed three gold coins onto the table before he began to eat his dinner.

The man sneered as he picked up the gold and muttered "Curs'd muggle money…s'all gold anyway…" and shoved the coins into his tunic pocket. This statement caught Godric's attention for a second before he dismissed it as the senile ramblings of an old man.

"Room's upstairs, secon' door down on th' righ', said the old man as he hobbled toward a door next to the chest of drawers-this obviously led to his personal quarters. He had half opened the door before Godric stopped him.

"Wait"

The man paused and turned his head slightly in Godric's direction. Godric was finished with his meal and stood up, eyeing the old man.

"There a tavern in this village?"

The old man sniffed loudly, as if this were an offensive question. "Nay…no tavern 'ere. G'nigh', sir." And with that he closed the door loudly behind him.

Godric made his way up to his room, his heavy footsteps causing the floorboards to creak and buckle slightly. The room consisted of nothing more than a bed and a chamber pot. He fell down on the bed, finding little comfort as it was hardly softer than the floor. He lay there staring at the ceiling and asking himself the same question he asked himself almost every night:

How much longer can I live like this?

He fell asleep with his question, once again, unanswered.

***

Godric was awakened by a rattling sound against the window, and was surprised to see a majestic snowy owl flapping against the panes. He rubbed his eyes and rose lazily out of bed. It was very dark outside, probably just before midnight. No sooner had he opened the window than the owl swooped into the room and past him, headed for the door. Godric watched in stunned silence as the door swung open and the owl passed through it. It turned in midair and stared at Godric as if it expected him to follow.

In a daze, Godric followed the bird, unable to control his legs. They left the inn and headed in the direction of the church. The owl led him beyond the stone church and Godric could see, no more than two leagues off in the distance, another hill rising in the darkness. There on its top, illuminated by the moon, were set many large stones. It was clear that the owl meant to take him to the ring on the hill.

Time passed slowly as the hill grew ever nearer. It seemed to Godric he had been walking for hours. Every muscle and bone in his body cried out for rest, yet he could not bend his will to keep from moving. He felt he could go no more and collapsed on the ground. Forcing himself up, he rested sitting against a stone almost sixteen feet high. He was in the stone circle.

***

All of a sudden, his senses came back to him and he shivered in the cold. The clearing within the circle of stones was covered with a blanket of snow. The owl sat in the center, gazing at him intently with its large yellow eyes.

Godric stood up and began walking toward the owl when he stopped abruptly, eyes widening.

_The owl began to change shape._

Two silvery tendrils rose from the snow and began to climb around the owl in a sort of double helix. A thick vapor was soon shrouding the bird so that it could only be seen as a shadow. However, that shadow grew to a height not much shorter than Godric himself. And then it split into three shadows.

When the mist had subsided, he found himself looking at a maiden of no more than sixteen; a woman heavy with child; and a crippled old crone. He stood there dumbstruck, not sure of what to say or do. After a moment, the three females spoke in unison.

_"Art thou Godric Gryffindor, son of Garric Gryffindor?"_ Their voices were in total sync and harmony; the clear tones rang through the still night. They were now walking slowly around him, inspecting him from every angle.

"Godric is my name" he answered, "though I know not whose son I am." He felt uncomfortable being circled by them; he felt as though he had no chance for escape.

The young maiden laughed lightly, her voice like wind chimes in the breeze._ "There is no need to think of flight, thou art in no danger."_

The crone held up one gnarled hand and they ceased their movement around him. He looked at her ancient face and a feeling of helplessness rushed through him such that he had never known, so that he fell to his knees before her.

_"Godric…thou hath been chosen among many to change the course of the future. If though taketh these charges upon thyself, thou must follow them to the end.  
"Thou shalt become _enlightened_ and so enlighten others. Three there are who shall come to thine aide. One shall be loyal and serve thee before all others. One shall ensnare thy heart. The nature of the last is shrouded in mystery, and shall not be known until thine own choices have been weighed.  
"This much shall I tell thee, and discard my warning not: 'ware the daughter of eagles. Her kiss is folly.  
"Dost thou accept?"_

Godric nodded of his own will. He felt as if this were what he had been waiting for all his life.

The crone moved toward him and placed one skeletal finger upon his right temple and traced a line across his cheek to the corner of his mouth. He felt a searing, white-hot pain arise in the area where she had touched him.

As she stepped back, she continued to speak:_ "Thou hast made covenant with Fate, son of Garric. It cannot be undone."_ Her words grew in intensity and the pain in Godric's face became unbearable. He clutched his face in his hands and cried out.

_"Thy thread has been laid bare. Let now thy journey take thee north."_

He fell forward into the snow, drained of all energy. The pregnant woman smiled down at him, passing her hand over his eyelids, and he knew no more.

***

Godric awoke that morning in a cold sweat; his clothes were drenched and he was chilled to the bone. A slight breeze blew in from the open window. He jumped out of bed, ran to the window, slammed it shut…and saw in his reflection upon the glass a deep red welt along the right side of his face, running from his temple to the corner of his mouth.

"It was real" he gasped. 


	2. A Chance Meeting

Chapter 2: A Chance Meeting

Godric set off after a quiet breakfast with the innkeeper. He hadn't the faintest idea of where he was going in particular...only a direction, but that was still more than he'd ever had before. Suddenly he felt a new sense of purpose...he felt as if some day he would contribute to something much larger than himself.

The sun was bright outside, and the sky a rich azure blue. The winter air was cool, crisp, and pleasant. Godric smiled slightly to himself as he trekked along. His mind began to wander as he traversed the rolling countryside, the snow just beginning to melt. On long journeys--as this was sure to be--he found himself asking the same questions he had asked countless times before.

His earliest memory was of the night sky. He could recall the image so vividly that he could point out the various constellations. He remembered seeing the brightest, most beautiful light imaginable, like a great glowing orb, drifting slowly up into the night. The light had made him feel warm inside, and loved. Then it disappeared. The chill of the night struck him and began to cry. Godric had spent hours wailing and shivering, unable to move. Finally, when it seemed that he would freeze to death, a large pair of hands had picked up him.

Godric had been a newborn then. What did the memory mean? What was that beautiful white light?

He spent the first twelve years of his life as most children did. The couple that had taken him in treated him well, but never as if he were really their son. Most of his time had been spent tilling the field, or tending to the livestock. His foster parents seemed to always be off doing one thing or another and were rarely home. When Godric was about seven years of age, he discovered a box beneath his foster parents' bed. Inside the box were old manuscripts and parchment, covered in writing he could not red. At breakfast one morning he confronted them about it, demanding to know what it was. He was so adamant that they decided to send him to church on Sundays to be taught how to read. However, they either found a different hiding spot for the mysterious box, or they destroyed its contents, because young Godric was never able to find it again.

One night after his thirteenth birthday, he had left home with little more than the clothes on his back. To this day he wasn't sure why he did, he just felt a strong calling to leave his old life and begin a new one. He also hoped to find out more about his past and what had become of his birth parents. Whenever he had asked his foster parents that question, they grew very silent, exchanging glances with one another.

"We are not permitted to say" the old man would tell him. No matter how insistent he was or angry he got, they still would not budge.

So he had left to find out for himself.

A small stream was coming up in the distance, and he quickened his pace, wanting to fill his waterskin and splash his face.

He knelt by the stream and started a bit upon seeing the face looking back at him from the clear water. Godric traced a finger along the healing welt on the right side of his face and watched the reflection do the same. It was going to leave a nasty scar. He smiled bitterly.

_As if I needed any more lines on my face_, he thought as he filled his waterskin. He took a moment to cleanse his face, saw that the welt was still there and not going anywhere, then sighed heavily and continued his journey.

***

It was nighttime when he heard yelling in the forest off to his right. It sounded as if someone were being robbed by bandits…but how did that concern him? He kept on walking…then a deep, searing pain flared up in the welt on his cheek. He gasped and clutched at his face, looking over at the forest where he had heard the yells. For reasons he was not sure if, he felt he _had_ to go in there and see if he could help whomever it was.

Godric crept slowly into the forest, creeping ever closer toward the loud voices. He saw a clearing up ahead, and crouched in some bushes on the outskirts.

There was a group of six rough looking men, all gathered around and harassing a very large woman. She stood at least three inches taller than her aggressors and looked as if she would have no problem taking on one or two of them alone. Armor glinted from beneath her travel cloak, and Godric also saw a very peculiar, small scabbard at her side. Her fair skin was glowing red in her anger; her tightly woven blonde ringlet curls seemed to shake with wrath.

One of the men, presumably the leader of the pack, stepped up close to her.

"She's a feisty one, ay?"

The men chortled with laughter, closing in on her.

The woman smiled menacingly.

"Feisty" she said slowly, "is an understatement."

"Yeah?" said one of the other men, drawing up close to her. He got so close that he pushed his face in her hair, took a big whiff and said "Why don't you show us, dearie?"

At that moment the woman socked him with one hand while drawing a wooden rod from the scabbard on her side. The leader was shocked for a split second, then yelled and threw himself toward her, but not quick enough.

_"Petrificus Totalus!"_

The man fell to the ground with a _thump_, stiff as a board.

Godric couldn't believe his eyes…had she just done…_magic_?

The other men were flabbergasted as well, but it didn't take them long to come to a conclusion. 

"Oi! She's a witch! GET HER!

The woman was able to fell a couple more of the men before one of them grabbed hold of her, seized her wand and snapped it in half.

"Now what'll you do, _witch_?" he jeered as he held her from behind.

"Do you think I need that silly piece of wood to do damage?" She slammed her head back into his and he howled with pain, releasing her. She spun around and as she did she drew a large battle-axe that had been concealed beneath the robes on her back.

"Come on you lot. She hasn't tasted a man's blood in days." She ran her finger along the length of the blade.

There were now only two men standing, though they both drew their swords, and one also produced a small crossbow.

She charged at them, but just before she was close enough to aim her axe at one of their heads, she found herself flying forward, then hard into the ground. She had tripped over something, and her axe was lying five feet away, just out of reach.

But she hadn't tripped on something, as she found when she rolled over and looked up. There was the leader, recovered from her petrifying spell. He pushed his boot roughly against her throat. She coughed and sputtered, gasping for air.

"What do you think mates? Should we kill her now or bring her to the village to have her burn?"

Some of the other men were recovering from petrification, and the man she'd socked was now on his feet, fuming.

"She's _ours_, boss."

The leader grinned, baring his rotten teeth. "Right." He looked down at the woman and spat upon her. "Sorry luv, majority rules." He drew a cruel looking sword from the scabbard at his side, raising it in the air above her head.

The blow never fell. At that moment, Godric sprang from his hiding place. He caught them all by surprise, and for the moment they were focused on him instead of their execution. Godric raised his hand in the air, and to everyone's astonishment, a bright blue light began to grow in his outward palm until it was an orb the size of a melon.

_"AAAARRRRRHHH"_ he brought his arm back then thrust it forward, sending the blue orb hurtling toward the group of surly men. It made contact with such an explosion of sound and light that the very trees seemed to shake. For a minute Godric was unable to see for the brightness, but after it faded he was able to see what had happened.

Whether the men were dead or simply stunned, he could not tell, but all six had been knocked down and showed no signs of movement. The woman, however, was unharmed. She grabbed her axe and sprang up off the ground, immediately taking a defensive position.

"Who are you?" she demanded. Godric did not like the way she was rotating the battle-axe in her hands. He was beginning to think maybe it had been a mistake to save her.

"I am Godric."

"Godric…" she lowered her axe and stood up proudly. "I am Helga. You have saved my life, and I am indebted to you. By the laws of my people, I shall spend the rest of my life trying to return the favor you have given me." She lifted her chin into the air and looked at him, waiting for a response.

"Er…really, that isn't necessary, but thank you anyway."

This was the wrong thing to have said.

Helga's cheeks flushed a furious red and she spoke in a whisper, her eyes glistening. "Do you think…that I would willingly put my life into the hands of a…_man_?" she spat this last word as if it were a curse. Her voice was shaking now, barely audible, and she seemed on the verge of tears, though she would never give in to them. "Do not dishonor me any more than you have already done."

Godric felt something tingle along the welt on his cheek, and he heard a voice in his head say "_One shall be loyal and serve thee before all others._"

"What are you? Where do you come from?"

"I am an Amazon of the Hufflepuff tribe. I hail from a hidden island deep in the oceans of the South. It is the biggest disgrace an Amazon can know to be unable to defend herself and to be saved by another…especially a man. Were I to return now, I would meet death at the hands of my people and I would deserve it. That is why I must return the favor before I can be accepted by my people again." She looked at him intensely, and he knew there was no way he was going to be rid of her. "That is why my life is bound to yours, why I must serve and protect you every minute of every day, so that if ever your life is in danger I will be there to repay the favor."

"I see." He smiled. "Where were you headed before I interrupted you?"

"North."

"As was I. Shall we be going then?" 


End file.
